


Whispers in the Dark

by Piscaria



Category: Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005)
Genre: CatCF, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-26
Updated: 2009-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piscaria/pseuds/Piscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wonka installs an intercom between his and Charlie's rooms. Rated M for implied chan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers in the Dark

_Midnight_

"Psst. Can you hear me?"

Charlie blinked awake as Wonka's voice, even quiet as it was, drifted into his dreams and tugged him back to reality. Sitting up in bed, Charlie rubbed his eyes and looked around his bedroom. It was empty.

"Mr. Wonka?" he whispered, suddenly unsure he'd heard his mentor's voice at all. Could he have dreamed it? But no, the chocolatier's voice returned, drifting through the heat vent by Charlie's bed.

"My dear boy! It works!"

"What works?" Charlie asked, yawning as he studied the heat vent. It didn't look any different.

"I set up an intercom between our rooms!" Wonka said. "This way we don't need to worry about your bedtime. We can keep brainstorming while you're supposed to be asleep."

"That's great!" Charlie said.

"Hey, keep your voice down!" Wonka admonished quietly. "We don't want your mom to find out. That'd spoil everything."

"All right," Charlie whispered, thrilled to be sharing yet another secret with the chocolatier. "But Mr. Wonka," he said, "I really am tired right now. I've got school in the morning. Can we brainstorm later?"

"All right," Wonka said, sounding disappointed.

Charlie frowned; he hated disappointing his mentor. "Maybe we can talk in the morning," he said. Wonka required very little sleep at night, and Charlie knew he'd be up before dawn, no matter how late he stayed up working. "You can wake me whenever you get up," he offered.

"All right!" Wonka said, all happiness again.

Charlie smiled, snuggling back under the covers. "Good night, Mr. Wonka," he whispered.

"Good night, Charlie."

* * *

_Three months later . . ._

"NO!" Charlie screamed, slamming upright in bed. Warm hands caught his shoulders, steadying him, and he opened his eyes to find Mr. Wonka sitting on the edge of his bed. Charlie blinked at him, still trying to recover from the nightmare.

"Bad dream?" Wonka asked.

Charlie shuddered -- he'd dreamt he'd seen his entire family and Wonka floating face down in the chocolate river, dead. He nodded, unable to answer, and lifted a hand to wipe at his eyes.

"Aw, hey," Wonka whispered, squeezing his shoulder. Charlie sniffed, managing a wan smile through his tears. Biting his lip, Wonka held his arms out shyly, and Charlie fell into his embrace, pressing his face against his mentor's shoulder. Wonka's arms wrapped around him, holding him safe. After a few minutes, Charlie calmed down enough to notice that the fabric beneath his cheek wasn't warm velvet, but soft silk. Opening his eyes, he realized for the first time that Wonka was dressed for bed -- he wore a magnificent brocade dressing gown over a set of silk pajamas.

"Did I wake you?" Charlie asked, embarrassed. He glanced towards the intercom, wondering how loud it was in Wonka's room.

"Yeah," Wonka said. "But it's okay. That's what friends are for, right?"

"Right," Charlie said, smiling. He might have said more, but downstairs, a light turned on.

"Charlie?" Mrs. Bucket called. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mum!" Charlie called back, not wanting her to come upstairs. In order to explain Wonka's presence, he'd have to explain about the vent in the wall, and he certainly didn't want to do that. He'd gotten used to talking to Wonka late at night.

"All right," his mother said. "Good night, darling."

"G'night, Mum!"

The light downstairs went off. Her footsteps retreated back into the bedroom. Charlie rested his head back on Wonka's shoulder and sighed. He still couldn't entirely erase the nightmare from his mind.

"Do you want me to stay here until you go to sleep?" Wonka whispered.

"Would you?" Charlie asked gratefully.

"Sure," Wonka said. He lay down on the mattress, bringing Charlie with him, and Charlie cuddled against the other man, grateful for the warmth that only increased when Wonka wrapped his quilt around them both. This wasn't what he'd expected when Wonka offered to stay, but he wasn't about to complain.

"Good night," Charlie whispered against Wonka's shoulder.

Warm lips brushed his forehead, and Wonka's gentle voice whispered, "Good night, Charlie."

* * *  
_Three years later . . . _

"Charlie," Wonka moaned, arching up into the delicious pressure of his own hand and tossing his head from side to side on the sweaty pillow. In his mind, his heir was opening the door to his bedroom with the skeleton key he'd given him last year. In his mind, his heir was tiptoeing across the room and drawing back the thick hangings around his bed, climbing up onto it to whisper in his ear . . .

"Mr. Wonka?"

Wonka froze, his hand pausing in its movements for a moment. He hadn't expected his fantasy to say _that_. And granted, he had a vivid imagination, but Charlie's voice in his mind had sounded a little too real. Turning his head to the side, he was horrified to see Charlie sitting on the edge of his mattress, smiling nervously down at him.

"Charlie!" Wonka yelped, scooting away from the boy and drawing the covers up around him tightly. "What . .. what are you doing here?"

In response, Charlie simply pointed to the air vent above his bed.

Mortified, Wonka buried his face against his knees. Of all the nights to forget to turn the intercom off! He shuddered to think about how long Charlie might have been listening to him. And worse, the boy had _seen_ him.

"Charlie," he said, his voice muffled by his knees. "I want you to go back to your room."

A moment of hesitation. Wonka squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that the boy would obey him as he usually did. But luck didn't seem to be on his side tonight. The mattress dipped beneath him as Charlie crawled across it, and through the blanket, Wonka felt the Charlie's warm hand settle atop his knee.

"Do you really?" Charlie asked. "You were saying my name."

"Charlie," Wonka said, proud when his voice only wavered a little, "I know that you're trying to be helpful, but I wasn't having a nightmare. Sometimes grown-ups like to . . ." and he paused for a moment, trying to find a good way to explain it.

To his annoyance, Charlie laughed. "Mr. Wonka," Charlie said, "I'm fourteen. I know what you were doing." His voice grew a little huskier, and he caught Wonka's hand -- his bare hand -- and pried it away from the edge of the blanket. "I do it too," he whispered.

"You . . . you do?" Wonka stammered, watching in horrified fascination as Charlie brought his hand up to his face. Wonka's traitorous fingers stroked the boy's soft cheek before trailing behind to curl against the back of his neck.

Charlie nodded shyly. "I have to be quiet," he said. "Because of . . ." and he nodded towards the vent in the wall. "But I do it. I've been doing it for years." He lowered his eyes for a moment, then caught Wonka's gaze again, almost defiantly. "I think about you when I do it," he confessed. "Were you thinking about me?"

Wonka started to nod, then stopped himself. His fingers had been trailing up and down the back of Charlie's neck, relishing the way Charlie shivered at his touch. But the sudden shyness in Charlie's face reminded Wonka of just how young his heir still was. With the iron self control, Wonka pulled away from the boy, folding his hands safely atop his knees.

"Charlie," he said, in a voice that couldn't be argued with. "I want you to go back to your room. Now."

The boy's face crumpled and he turned away from Wonka, but not before the chocolatier caught sight of the shame and mortification in his face.

"I'm sorry," Charlie mumbled, sliding off the bed. "I . . . I thought that you might feel the same way. Oh God. I'm sorry. I'll go."

"Charlie!" Wonka cried. The boy turned back to look at him warily, and the misery in his face reached through Wonka's restraint, and even some of his embarrassment.. "Charlie," Wonka said in a gentler voice. "You're not mistaken."

Wonka slid to the edge of the mattress, keeping a death-grip on the sheet. They were nearly face to face now -- even after years of taking vitamins, Charlie was still slightly small for his age, and Wonka's bed was rather high. For a moment, they simply studied each other. Wonka read the mingled hope and humiliation in Charlie's eyes, then sighed. Over the years, for Charlie's sake, he'd found himself doing any number of things that he probably shouldn't -- like leaning forward and pressing his lips to Charlie's.

He'd meant the kiss to be a chaste one. He'd meant to offer reassurance, nothing more. But after a shocked second of stiffness, Charlie's lips had softened against his own, then parted, and Wonka, too used to searching out new flavors, had slipped his tongue into the boy's mouth before giving the matter a conscious thought. Charlie's tongue met his own there, shyly, and that tentative touch drove all thoughts of propriety out of Wonka's head. Cupping the boy's face with both hands, he pulled Charlie closer, until the boy's knees bumped the bed. Charlie climbed up onto the mattress, wrapping his arms around Wonka's shoulders and deepening the kiss. With his usual thoroughness, Wonka explored the new territory of the boy's mouth, mapping every centimeter of Charlie's tongue and sliding up to familiarize himself with the shape of Charlie's teeth, the soft skin behind his hard palette.

When they finally pulled apart, they blinked at each other dazedly. The sheet had slipped at some point during the kiss, but Wonka couldn't quite bring himself to care.

"Wow," Charlie whispered, touching his own mouth. His eyes held something akin to awe.

Wonka grinned at him, reveling in a moment of well-deserved pride. He always had been good at whatever he put his mind to. Why not kissing as well?

"Do you still think I don't want you?" he asked, stroking the boy's cheek.

Charlie glanced down at the mattress, then up again, his earlier bravery returning to his eyes. "Do you still want me to leave?" he countered quietly.

Wonka hesitated. "Charlie," he said softly. "This is wrong. We should wait. You're still so young . . ."

"How many years do you want to wait?" Charlie asked. "One year? Two years? Ten? You're still going to be older than I am. Nothing's going to change that. Why should we wait for something we both want?"

Wonka closed his eyes. It was impossible to think with Charlie's hands stroking his arms like that. "You're a child," he countered weakly. "You don't know what you want."

"Do you really believe that?" Charlie asked, sounding amused.

Wonka hesitated a second, then reluctantly shook his head. _He'd_ certainly known what he wanted at Charlie's age, and nothing, not even his father, could have kept him from getting it.

"I didn't think so." Charlie kissed his neck, and Wonka shuddered, leaning back his head to expose more of his throat, despite himself. "I dare you," the boy whispered against his skin, and then he _licked_ the line of Wonka's jaw.

Wonka shivered, trying to collect his thoughts. "Charlie," he managed to say, but nothing more. He opened his eyes to find the boy grinning at him.

"I double dare you," Charlie said.

Wonka felt himself returning the smile, and leaning in, he pressed another kiss to the boy's lips. The next time they pulled apart, he whispered into Charlie's ear, "This is probably a bad idea."

"Most of your good ones usually are," Charlie responded.

Much, much later, as he lay in bed with Charlie curled warm and sleepy beside him, Willy Wonka had to conclude that the intercom was probably the best idea he'd ever had.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/15minuteficlets/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/15minuteficlets/)**15minuteficlets**. Challenge word: whisper


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